Complexity
by Politzania
Summary: So many missions. So many murders. But, there were memories of helping, not harming. A passing on of knowledge. Demonstrating for an audience, (one young woman, with red hair) how to survive in dangerous times.


_**1**_

 _I'm taking the fire escape up to the roof.  
_ _Don't care if it's not the way you find the truth.  
_ _Time to make this climb: to rise above.  
_ _-_ " _Up To The Roof_ " - Blue Man Group

Barnes found himself on another rooftop. He assumed his affinity for being up high was somehow tied to his sniper training - good sight lines and very few people ever looking up. But he also had a memory of sitting on a fire escape with his best friend in the world, drinking beer on a summer night, talking about what the future might hold. He'd bet money that the kid on the fire escape never expected to be a freak, a metal-armed assassin who was put on ice for years between missions.

At least he knew his own name now, knew it even if he didn't remember it (or rather, remembered it only as part of a longer string of information he had repeated over and over during that first bad time). He'd gone to the museum and visited the exhibit. Looked at the photos of the face he sometimes saw in the mirror. That other face that smiled and laughed, usually while in the company of Steve Rogers.

Steve - the target, the objective... the man he had fought on the overpass, and on the flying ship. The one who had called him by that child's nickname - the name that was just starting to mean something to him. Steve was that best friend from all those years ago. Not that you deserve a best friend, Barnes thought, not after all the blood that you've spilled as the Winter Soldier.

So many missions. So many murders. But, there were memories of helping, not harming. A passing on of knowledge. Demonstrating to an audience (one young woman, with red hair) how to survive in dangerous times.

Time to put those survival skills to use on yourself, he thought wryly. He knew he needed to go to ground; to find a safe place while he tried to rediscover who he really was. Somewhere he couldn't hurt anyone if (when?) he relapsed. But for that he would need money. He dredged his Winter Soldier memories, painful though that was. He remembered a HY... a ... safe house in Brooklyn, in Hunters Point, down near the docks. Seemed as good a place to start as any.

 _ **2**_

 _Tried to live the life you sold me, no matter what the cost.  
_ _Tried to walk the way you told me, but each time I got lost  
_ _The stairs didn't lead me anywhere...  
_ _-_ " _Up To The Roof"_ \- Blue Man Group

Natasha settled into a corner of the quiet car on the Acela. She'd translated the material in the dossier from her Kiev contact... and done a bit of judicious editing. Steve didn't need to know about the Winter Soldier's Red Room connection; it would be a... complication. Her fingers idly traced the Cyrillic characters on the dossier's cover as she remembered:

She was probably eight or nine years old at the time of their first training session with the Soldier. She had thought he was a robot at first, not so much because of the arm, but his affect: emotionless, no praise, no punishment, just a straight assessment of their performance. They had more training sessions with the Soldier several weeks later, and he seemed different. Still strict, still demanding, but with a touch of humanity around the edges. A little more each day, although he hid it from the other instructors.

The other girls had taunted her, calling her "Flametop", for her temper as much as her hair. The Soldier had softened it to "Little Flame", and she nearly burst with pride the few times he said it. He had been assisting her with her stance on the firing range; she'd insisted on handling a full-sized Kalashnikov instead of the scaled down weaponry her class usually used for training. For just a moment, he rested his right hand on her head, stroked her hair, and murmured what sounded like a girl's name - Rebecca. She didn't see him again for seven years.

The Red Room candidates (less than a dozen now) had graduated to full-sized guns, live ammo, and sometimes live targets. In their previous session with the Soldier a month and a half ago, they had focused on sniper skills; but this activity, they were told, would test their stalking and hand-to-hand combat skills. Each young woman was given a bag of powder that fluoresced under UV light. This bag was to be worn on a breakaway cord around the neck, and was both their weapon and their weakness. They could choose to count coup - marking one another with a touch of powder. Or they could attempt to steal another combatant's bag via stealth or skill. Or whatever combination of the strategies seemed appropriate. The candidates were set loose in a cityscape training environment, with the Soldier as observer. The only rules: no weapons and no broken bones.

At the end of the exercise, Natalya had six bags (seven, counting her own) that she held aloft proudly. In addition, all the other combatants showed markings of her red powder. All the other combatants ... and their observer, Yelena noted, pointing out a red streak across his left knee. The room went silent. The Soldier dismissed the group, but told her to remain. Once the door closed behind the others, she braced herself, expecting corporal punishment for her impulsive act. A slap across her face, or worse. Instead, he simply asked "How did you do it?"

" I was cautious, I was quiet... and I cheated." was her reply. She had created a pellet of the powder by mixing it with saliva. She then demonstrated how she had used her elastic hairband as a slingshot. She estimated she was about 18 feet away from him when she got off her shot. She had learned the lesson of stealth well.

"Your other instructors have not exaggerated, then. You are the top candidate." He stepped closer to her. "But, Little Flame, I fear you will burn yourself out too quickly. Save your fire for the true enemy." He tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear before turning to leave, his fingertips brushing her cheek. His gesture and his words were seared across her heart. Another half-decade passed.

She had just completed her first mission as the Black Widow when she heard rumors that the recent assassination of a Middle Eastern diplomat had been the Winter Soldier's work. She took a chance and forged mission orders that would take her back to the Red Room Headquarters. She expected the Soldier, as before, would be assigned to train recruits before being returned to cryo. Yes, she'd done quite a bit of research on him since their last encounter. Research that, if discovered, could mean her death for treason.

She found the Soldier up on the roof of the tallest building on the base. She let the door latch loudly behind her - no point trying to sneak up. "Why are you here?" he asked, turning to face her. "I was told I could stay on the roof until it was time... it is not time yet." He sounded defensive, almost petulant. She stopped a few yards away - hands in clear sight - she did not want to appear to be a threat.

"I came to thank you. I graduated from the Red Room with your help. Your training was...valuable." She kept her voice steady and risked a direct look at his face. He was staring into hers, with a mildly quizzical look.

"I know you. You are ... older now."

"Yes." But he was not. At least, not physically. And her memory had been surprisingly accurate - the dark hair, the grey-green eyes, the strong jaw. They had featured in her dreams for years. She approached the Soldier, saying "I have something for you."

"No. I am not allowed to retain possessions." he replied.

"It's not like that." And before she could second-guess herself, she quickly stepped over, rested her hands on his shoulders and kissed the Soldier. Again, she expected a shove, or a slap as response - not to feel his right hand entwine itself in her hair, or his metal arm so gently embrace her.

After a wonderful moment, she spoke. The kiss had been for her; her words were for him. "Your name is James. James Buchanan Barnes. You are from Brooklyn. Rebecca is your youngest sister. Your best friend is... " He silenced her with a finger on her lips.

"Little Flame... you would burn the world down around us." Yes, yes, she would, and more, if he asked.

They both heard footsteps on the stairs. With a ghost of a smile on his face, he let her go. She quickly judged the distance to the next building - a bit of a stretch, but with a running start... and she was gone. Years passed with no news of the Soldier.

But then.. then there was Barton, and SHIELD. She recalled the road just outside Odessa. The dark figure standing in the road. The slug that tore through her side to kill the man she was supposed to protect. The Soldier approached, presumably to confirm his mission. She couldn't see his face, but she spoke his name. There was no reply. He had left her to bleed to death on the side of the road, but he had not killed her. And just a few days ago, on the overpass - he could have killed her again. After the shoulder shot, as he stood on the car looking down at her, there was a moment where he had hesitated. Did some part of him remember? And then Steve had charged at the Soldier, shield in hand.

Steve Rogers ... Captain America - a hero returned to our world. He had broken through, done something to reignite the spark of humanity inside the Winter Soldier. Steve was convinced of that, and so was she. She'd seen evidence of that humanity before; but had apparently failed in her attempt to revive it a decade ago. Now, any attempt on her part to get involved in the recovery of James Buchanan Barnes would complicate things at best. Natalya had been a part, albeit unwitting, of the worst part of his life; he needed no reminders of that, not now. She would hand over the dossier and walk away. She excelled at walking away.

However, after their conversation at Fury's empty grave, she found she couldn't let it go so easily. She had intel Sam and Steve didn't - the list of HYDRA safe houses in New York, for example. Yes - she could have shared it, but she was still ambivalent about being a team player. Having a partner you could trust was one thing, but additional allies just added levels of complexity and the potential for betrayal.

So, she set up a parallel operation. She called in a favor from Pepper for surveillance gear and JARVIS' assistance for video analysis. She knew the AI well enough to set the parameters without giving away exactly what she was looking for. Natasha asked Clint for help as well ...after she'd given him seven kinds of hell for having chosen the absolute **worst** time to go off the grid. He knew her whole history: the Red Room, the training sessions with the Winter Soldier, even the graduation ceremony. If she trusted anybody to help her do the right thing for whatever their quarry turned out to be - man or monster - she trusted Clint Barton.

 _ **3**_

 _I work on the highest floor  
_ _There's nothing in my way ...  
_ _I don't feel like working anymore, is that okay?  
_ _So far in, I can't get out.  
_ _So far in, I can't get out  
_ _\- "The Complex"_ \- Blue Man Group

It had been a bad day, a very bad day, Barnes thought. He had killed someone he hadn't needed to kill. Hadn't meant to kill.

The safe house was supposed to be empty - none of the usual flags had been set. And yet, there was a figure standing in the kitchen, rifling through the drawers. It took no time at all to subdue him, twisting both arms behind his back.

"What is the codeword?" he hissed.

"What the fuck are you saying?" his captive replied. He realized a) he had spoken in Russian and b) it was just a kid, some teenage punk. Probably not HYDRA at all. But he had to confirm.

"I said, what is the codeword?" This time in English.

"Dude - what codeword? Get the fuck off me!" The kid struggled, to no effect.

"What are you doing here?"

"None of your goddamn business, asshole!"

"I'm making it my business, shitstain. I repeat, what are you doing here?" He twisted one of the punk's arms a little higher; the kid whined in pain.

"I found out about this place on the internet - thought I'd check it out - see if there was anything good here."

Damn - so this safe house wouldn't be safe for long. He took a chance, and let the jerk go. "Get out of here, kid. Some really bad shit is on the way. I'm not joking - get the hell out of here."

The kid turned, then threw a punch at Barnes. He reacted almost without thinking (almost), retaliating with a left hook. His target's head snapped back... too fast, too far. Dear god, had he broken the punk's neck? He watched, helplessly, as the kid crumpled to the floor. He knelt next to the body, checking for a pulse. He felt one, two, three beats... then nothing.

No...not again. He couldn't take any more blood on his hands, not as he was trying to finally rid himself of the Soldier. What if next time, it's Steve? Okay, Steve was tough enough, but what about his friends? The guy with the wings? The woman with the red hair? He remembered shooting her; she might be dead already. That thought pained him deeply, though he didn't understand why.

Enough. He was tired of fighting... of killing... being brought back from the dead (no, worse than dead) again and again. He knew someone would be coming soon.. SHIELD, HYDRA, he didn't care. Let them come - and he would take them with him. It felt good to make a choice.

 _ **4**_

 _And I've been thinking about the future  
_ _I hope some day I'll get away  
_ _But the current keeps bringing me back around  
_ _Seems the only place for me is underground  
_ _So tomorrow, when the sun comes up, I'll be going down  
_ _Going down. Going down.  
_ _\- "The Current"_ \- Blue Man Group

Natasha watched the video footage JARVIS had flagged for her again. They'd started small - she had a gut feeling that Barnes would head for familiar territory and had focused most of their resources on the two HYDRA safe houses in Brooklyn and the one in Queens. Bingo. She saw the kid enter, then about 20 minutes later, their quarry. Based on the timestamps, it had been almost a half-hour, and neither had left. She couldn't imagine that they were having a get-to-know-you chat... what was going on?

And how soon would it be before someone else stumbled on this safe house, like the kid apparently had? The original plan was to send Clint in for first contact. After all, he had experience with mind fuckery, about being unmade. She intended to keep her distance; advisory role, eyes and ears, and so on. But Clint was all the way across town - no way he could make it in time. She wasn't sure she could, for that matter, despite being right across the river. Thankfully, she'd prepared for a close encounter. She texted Clint the address and their code phrase for "need backup ASAP" and was out the door.

It took her about ten minutes to arrive at the house. JARVIS confirmed no one had left the house, and that there were no sign of agents from either side. She hoped Clint was on his way, and went in through the back door. There was a body on the floor... and the Winter Soldier sat at the kitchen table. No, it was James sitting there; if he were still the Soldier, she would already have been dead.

She saw that his guns were laid out on the table, unloaded, disassembled. His knives, in their sheaths, were on the counter, out of his reach. His head was down, long hair obscuring his face. His left, metal hand lay flat on the table, while his right... his right hand held a grenade. The pin had already been pulled. She froze.

"Are you a good witch, or a bad witch?" His voice was low and steady.

She was completely nonplussed. "Excuse me?"

"Are you with SHIELD or HYDRA?" She saw his right hand twitch.

"Neither. I'm with Steve Rogers." Which was ... more or less true. She added, "I came here alone." Clint would kill her for admitting that, but it seemed the right thing to say.

She saw James take a deep breath, then lift his left hand. He took the pin it had been concealing, inserted it back into the grenade, and set it down on the table. He rose from his seat, to face away from her. He kneeled on the floor, put his hands behind his back. Was he surrendering?

Then he bowed his head. No... he was expecting her to execute him... and making it easy for her. Instead, she slowly took her pistols from their holsters, unloaded them, then placed both the guns and the magazines on the floor. She knew he could tell what she was doing, just by the sound. Then she spoke.

"That's not why I'm here, Sergeant."

"I'm not a sergeant. Haven't been for seventy years. Don't know what I am now."

"Well, if I can't call you sergeant, what should I call you? Mr. Barnes?"

He gave a sharp, dry bark of laughter. "That's my dad. I dunno... James?" Hearing him say his own name nearly undid her. From his first words, she could tell he was more human now than perhaps he had been in decades. Apparently so much so, that he felt he no longer deserved to live. She knew that dossier only touched on what HYDRA must have done to the Soldier since they'd taken possession of him from the Soviets. How much of that did he remember, and how much damage had it wreaked?

They both heard someone coming up the driveway at the same time. She reached for her knives and James was already on his feet, guarding her left flank, which was closest to the door. That escalated quickly, she thought; from brandishing a grenade to having her back in a matter of minutes. Must be the power of Steve; she didn't dare hope it was anything else. She heard a familiar birdsong whistle; she replied with the "Stand down" signal, and made what she hoped was a reassuring hand gesture to James, as she relaxed her stance.

"Nat, everything OK in there?" Clint's voice rang out, a little too casually, from just outside the door.

"Yeah - we've got a cleanup on aisle six, and there's someone here you should meet. Come on in."

 **5**

 _If I follow along, does it mean I belong  
_ _If I follow along, does it mean I belong  
_ _If I follow along, does it mean I belong  
_ _Or will I keep feeling different than anybody else?  
_ _"Sing Along"_ \- Blue Man Group

Even after almost a week at the apartment, Barnes still wondered how he'd gotten here. "How" in the existential sense, that is; he remembered the "point A to point B" part just fine. In fact, his recent memory was just peachy. It was the time before... before Steve had called him Bucky. That was still very patchy, and what he was remembering, he generally wished he hadn't. But there was something more, something very elusive, flickering around the edges.

He still wasn't sure what instinct had kept him from triggering the grenade when the woman entered the safe house. But she'd said the right thing to make him decide he wasn't ready for a murder/suicide. He hadn't gotten a good look at her until her partner came in and actually turned on the lights. For a split second, he thought he knew her. And when she introduced herself as Natalie, he saw a bright flame in his mind's eye.

They all knew time was short - the safe house was no longer safe. Her partner, who'd given his name as Barton, was already examining the kid's body - checking for a wallet, a phone, anything to identify who he was. Natalie got out her phone and headed to the front room, apparently wanting some privacy. He was at a loss as to what to do, so he went after the reason he'd come to the safe house in the first place.

"There's a cache upstairs - money, id kits, stuff like that..." Barton grunted an acknowledgement, and Natalie nodded, absently waving her hand towards the stairs. He didn't understand why they let him go upstairs alone - didn't they know how dangerous he was? The woman... Natalie... was supposed to have taken him out, he'd made that abundantly clear. Why had she declined - did they have something else in mind for him? Were they taking him to see Steve? He couldn't let that happen. It was too dangerous; he knew he still wasn't in control of the Soldier. It had taken everything he had not to attack the moment she came in the door, despite the decision he had already made. And he'd nearly torn Barton's head off, if it hadn't been for Natalie's relaxed stance and casual comment.

The cache was right where the memory had said it would be. Guess HYDRA made some things stick better than others, each time they reprogrammed him. He grabbed a duffle, the stacks of cash, and one of the ID kits, but left the weapons in place. He'd rather have the ones downstairs, if they would allow him to keep them. The Soldier surfaced briefly, with a command to escape out one of the windows. He resisted. Not only did Barton and Natalie probably have additional backup, he was tired of running, of hiding. Of being on his own.

Someone had covered the kid's body by the time he returned to the kitchen. He saw a wallet and phone on top of the still form; that nearly did him in. But he let the Soldier deal with it instead, and sat back down at the table, waiting for orders. He noticed that Barton was leaning against the wall, cleaning his nails with a knife. A knife that easily could be heading his direction (point first, he was sure) if he were to make any wrong move. The two men locked eyes as Natalie put her phone away, saying "Pepper's on it - let's go for a ride while we wait. We'll take my car; yours is a pit, Barton." She tossed her partner the keys. "But you can drive."

He sat in the back of the nondescript sedan, dufflebag next to him with the cash, and their weapons. He was itching to put at least one of his guns back together, but was afraid it would give his new handlers (no, perhaps allies - she'd mentioned Steve) the wrong idea. He saw how their eyes kept flicking up to the mirror, and did his best to look harmless. He felt the urge to burst from the car and take off into the city, but curiosity got the better of him. He'd almost forgotten what curiosity felt like; a soldier took orders, and didn't wonder why.

They'd driven around for a couple of hours, getting takeout from a Thai place along the way and parking in an alley while they ate. He had never had Thai food - Natalie recommended jasmine rice and chicken satay, after asking if he had a peanut allergy. He replied "Negative", without knowing how he knew. Damn, that was annoying.

The food was good, though... Natalie shared some of her pad thai, and Barton had a green curry that made his eyes water just from the smell. As they finished their meal, Natalie got a call. She stepped out of the car to answer it, returning a few minutes later. "We've got you a place to lie low, James." she said as she sat back down. A momentary sense of warmth enveloped him.

She continued. "It's safe - no SHIELD or HYDRA connections, I promise. We're about 20 minutes out - you've got time to finish eating." Barton put the vehicle in gear and they were on their way. Upon arrival, Barton dropped them at the door of the apartment building, saying he was off to get some supplies. Natalie greeted a large man standing in the entryway.

"Hey, Happy - thanks for helping out on such short notice." She turned slightly, motioning him to join them. "This is James, James Barnes. He'll be crashing here for awhile until we get things sorted out." He knew a bodyguard when he saw one, and also knew that he was being sized up. He was thankful for the jacket and glove that concealed his metal arm; that would have been difficult to explain. Knowing what was expected of him, he reached out to shake hands, and was surprised that Happy did not attempt a test of strength disguised as a friendly greeting. He wasn't sure how his conditioning would have reacted to that. Badly, he supposed.

The apartment building near McCarren Park looked to be nearly as old as he was, yet seemed well-maintained. They entered a corner unit on the top floor; the shade trees on the street reaching barely halfway up the windows. Excellent sight lines. It was furnished with a mishmash of furniture, and had been recently aired out - the windows were still open. One tiny bedroom, a bathroom off the bedroom and a kitchen nook on one side of the living area. It was still a hell of a lot better than most of his accommodations over the years. Happy had taken his leave after handing over the keys, so it was him and Natalie for the moment.

He reached into the duffel, and handed her one of the bricks of bills. "Here. This should cover first and last month's rent, I think." She seemed surprised.

"We've already taken care of it, James."

"Nuh-uh. I pay my own way. Never relied on charity before, not gonna start now."

"Pass some of that cash over here." Barton said as he entered the apartment - bag of groceries in one hand and in the other, a sack from a thrift store. "Had to guess at your sizes, champ. And you're on your own for skivvies. Didn't think you'd want secondhand BVDs." Natalie took the grocery bag, peeling off several bills from the stack and handing them over. Barton tossed the other bag at Barnes, who checked out the clothing. Three black, long sleeved knit shirts, and two pairs of black jeans. And the sizes looked just about right; the guy had a good eye.

"Thanks." He wasn't used to being treated kindly, as a person instead of an asset, and found himself at a bit of a loss. He assumed this was some sort of house arrest; and wondered how long he had before the debriefing, the interrogation. Would they take his arm... would they take his memories? He hoped not; while they were often painful and still very fragmented, the memories were really all he had.

"There's a laundry room in the basement - I'd recommend you put that at the top of your To Do list for tomorrow." Natalie said, slightly wrinkling her nose. For a moment, she looked a dozen years younger, and that deja vu feeling hit him hard again.

"Uh yeah... good point. Thanks for everything, both of you." Once he heard the car drive away, he started scanning the apartment for bugs. What he found, he left alone, for now. He wanted to be a good guest, for however long he had to stay.

 _ **6**_

 _Every morning, I put it on  
_ _I walk outside, and I am gone  
_ _And I don't seem to mind anymore  
_ _I can't think what it was like before I wore it all the time  
_ _\- "Persona"_ \- Blue Man Group

"Okay, the hair color and the glasses I get, but why Natalie? Seems a bit chancy... Besides, I thought you never re-used aliases." Clint asked as they drove back to the Tower.

"I don't, except when the first word out of my partner's mouth in front of the target is my goddamn name!" Natasha tersely replied. She had constructed a different ID entirely, but the Rushman cover was the first one that popped into her head after Clint's stupidity. And he had a point - Natalie sounded much too close to Natalya.

"Aw, c'mon, Nat could be short for lots of different names... Natha-Lee, Nasturtium, Natty Bumppo..."

"Natty Bumppo, Clint? What the hell?"

"Maybe your parents were big James Fenimore Cooper fans."

"Natty Bumppo was a guy."

"Not my fault they wanted a boy!" She punched him in the arm, and continued the verbal sparring until they arrived. She suspected he was intentionally redirecting her attention away from James, and she appreciated the effort.

She fully expected that either James or the bugs (or both) would be gone from the apartment by the time they returned and checked the surveillance feeds. She was surprised to instead hear... singing. They narrowed it down to the bathroom feed. The camera seemed to be covered in a white, foamy substance, so there was no video, only audio. Fair enough; she wouldn't have put an eye in the bathroom to start with.

While James had a pleasant enough singing voice, this evening's repertoire was ... questionable at best. It seemed to be a collection of bawdy, no, make that downright filthy songs from his time in the Army. Steve had tried the same trick in his early days as well; the bugs being SHIELD's not so subtle attempt at a suicide watch. But she did not embarrass easily. In fact, she'd learned harmonies for several of the songs in case the opportunity ever came up again, and found herself humming along with him.

James slept late the next morning. In fact, apparently about all he did the next day was sleep, and eat. Oh, and a load of laundry. Good for him. The bag of groceries hadn't lasted long (apparently James' metabolism was overclocked like Steve's), so Clint volunteered to make a pizza and beer run over to the apartment. That suited her fine; she had loose ends to tie up, and she thought short visits would be a good way for him to start gaining James' trust.

He took a DVD player and a selection of movies along with the pizza and beer. While neither he nor Natasha had explicitly stated anything, it seemed James understood he was not to leave the building. They'd left a burner phone with their numbers programmed in at the apartment as well. Over the course of the week, James called Clint multiple times, mostly to request more movies and food, specifically asking for apples and supplies for grilled cheese sandwiches. He'd only called Natasha's number once, when he couldn't reach Clint. Regardless, she enjoyed hearing his voice actually speaking to her. While they knew that he knew the bugs were there, James played along and didn't break the fourth wall by directly addressing them via the surveillance system. But he talked to himself sometimes... and then there were the nightmares.

She was worried, although not surprised; Heaven knows she's had her share. While the words - sometimes English, sometimes Russian - were barely comprehensible, James' terror came through the mikes loud and clear. Her heart ached to comfort him, and on catching a blurred mention of "Red Room", she had to turn the feed off for a few moments. Maybe it was time to talk to Wilson. While she was reluctant to bring more people into the situation (especially with Sam being so tight with Steve at the moment) his experience as a counselor at the VA might be useful.

 **7**

 _There's a feeling that I get sometimes.  
_ _It's so small that it's easy to hide.  
_ _It's like a howling voice from the distant past.  
_ _It seems I've got no choice when it comes to this.  
_ _It's building up inside.  
_ _\- "Persona"_ \- Blue Man Group

Barnes wasn't sure how much longer he could stand this. The house arrest was starting to get on his nerves, and he still wasn't sure what Barton and Natalie wanted from him. His body craved physical activity. He tried running up and down the stairs; but that didn't do much besides earn him dirty looks from his neighbors. Long walks had always been the way he'd dealt with stress; even on the battlefield, he'd volunteer for picket duty, making his way around the entire perimeter during his watch. Long walks had helped stave off the nightmares before; but now the nights were very, very long.

The days were long as well. He felt a bit conflicted when Barton came over to hang out for a few hours. While he genuinely liked the guy, he didn't need someone watching over him. The bugs were bad enough; he assumed Natalie was on general surveillance duty, and idly wondered why the two of them didn't switch off doing on-site visits. He would like to see her again and find out why she felt so familiar. He'd called her once, but she seemed oddly distant. At least Barton had introduced him to a bunch of movies he'd missed over the years. He'd been smart enough to avoid any war films, and didn't seem much into drama, preferring action and comedy. But they both really got into period films - especially westerns and mobster-type movies.

He had particularly enjoyed _The Sting_ and _Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid_. He really liked Newman's performances, although something about Redford made him uneasy. And while he enjoyed reacquainting himself with the Looney Toons back catalog (Bugs Bunny was a smartass after his own heart), he had scoffed when Barton put a Disney cartoon on.

But it turned out to be a damn good story. Two best friends - a big guy and a little guy - yeah, that felt familiar. And oddly, so did the little lost girl. She was not afraid of the monster whose job was to strike fear into the hearts of his targets. She trusted him; and he had to protect her.

"Her hair should be red..." he murmured.

"Huh?" Barton gave him an odd look. He shook his head - he didn't know why he had said that.

The scene where Mike and Sully were banished to the snowy mountain struck a bit of a raw nerve. He found himself sitting tensely on the couch until that scene was over. And the end of the film, with that last line ... "Kitty!"... well... he blamed his wet eyes on the dusty room. Barton didn't say a word... just passed over the box of Kleenex - because the dust had gotten to him too.

He suspected an ulterior motive to the "buddy pictures" movie theme Barton seemed to be following. Neither of them had mentioned Steve Rogers, since that first day in the car while they drove to the apartment. He had told them he didn't think a reunion was was a good idea. He was afraid seeing Rogers again would trigger something; a mission objective he couldn't deny. He'd nearly killed Steve, there on the flying ship. He couldn't risk that happening again. He wished Barton and Natalie would just get on with whatever their plan was for him.

 **8**

 _place your attention entirely on my voice and try to ignore all the others. It is important to be able to focus on a single source of information, while blocking out all the other things that are competing for your attention."  
_ _\- "Your Attention"_ \- Blue Man Group

"I'm surprised you're up for this," Clint said to Sam, "considering the last time you saw this guy, he'd just ripped your wing off and was kicking you over the edge of a helicarrier."

Sam replied, "Not the same guy. From what you've said so far, sounds like Barnes is on his way back. I'd like to help him out if I can. After all, it's kind of my job."

"You're not going to say anything to Steve, are you? We kind of promised James that we wouldn't tell Steve anything yet. Not till he was a little more ready." Natasha knew this was important to James; that he be allowed the choice of when (if?) to make contact with Steve. He'd had so many other choices taken away from him... they had to keep their word.

Sam agreed with her, although he'd taken the brunt of Steve's turmoil over finding the friend he thought he'd lost decades ago had been turned into a mindwiped assassin. She got Sam up to speed on her cover ID, using the excuse that there was bad blood between Black Widow and the Winter Soldier - the fight on the overpass seemed ample proof of that. Sam and Clint then made the drive over while she manned the surveillance feeds.

Their little chat didn't quite go as planned. While Sam quickly smoothed things over with James, saying he could tell the difference between the Winter Soldier and the man standing before him now, it was the rest of their talk that went off the rails. She, Clint and Sam had assumed James might want to talk about the helicarrier battle and the aftermath - where he and Steve had fought hand to hand, and how James had apparently saved Steve's life after nearly taking it. And maybe they could test the waters regarding a possible reunion - they couldn't keep James a secret forever, not while Steve was out looking and risking his neck chasing down leads.

But once James learned that not only was Sam the man with the wings on the helicarrier, but the third target in the car on the overpass - he focused in on their first encounter instead. Specifically, on the woman with the red hair. He peppered Sam with questions. Why was she there? Sam wasn't sure, she was Steve's friend. Where had she learned to fight like that? Sam had no idea. Had she survived? Yes, as far as he knew. Did Sam know where she was? How to get in touch? Sam put his best poker face on and answered "Not a clue."

James turned to Clint, who replied that he knew of her, but also had no idea where she was now. James had grown more agitated with each question, but then plateaued to a deadly calm, asking if either of them knew anyone else, besides Steve, who could contact her. She hoped that Sam and Clint would see this as leverage; a way to get James to agree to see Steve, but instead, Clint threw his partner under the bus. "Yes, I think Natalie can." Son of a bitch.

James then turned to face one of the bugs that he'd been studiously ignoring all along, looking right into the camera. "Natalie - if this is true, come see me. Tonight. Alone." He then threw a his coffee mug, hitting the camera and cutting the feed. From the bug in the bedroom, she heard James telling Sam and Clint to leave, an uncharacteristically sharp tone in his voice. And then there was nothing besides the opening and closing of the door.

 **9**

 _I'm taking the fire escape up to the roof.  
_ _Don't care if it's not the way you find the truth  
_ _And when I get up that high, I don't know what I'll find  
_ _But I'd rather look at the sky than wonder why I let you take my choice.  
_ _Time to make this climb: to rise above.  
_ _\- "Up to the Roof"_ \- Blue Man Group

Natasha barely had time to apply the Natalie makeup and don Natalie clothing. She resisted the urge to don her Black Widow cuffs - no way to explain them as part of the outfit. And James would spot any other weapon, though she risked an ankle knife. She told Clint to stay put in the Tower, but knew he wouldn't.

As she was leaving, Clint handed her one of a paired set of Panic Buttons. One of Stark's gadgets, if either button was pressed, and the other was within a kilometer (give or take 100 meters), it would respond, with an audible alarm or vibration (the default). She stuck hers under the collar of her shirt, but told Clint not to expect her to use it.

"You didn't see him, Nat. Not up close, not after he took out the camera. I honestly don't know who's going to answer the door over there, Barnes or the Soldier. I'm really sorry." She knew her partner didn't want her to go. And he knew he couldn't stop her.

She tried to calm herself on the drive over, but the city traffic just left her even more agitated. She pressed the intercom button. "It's me, James. Natalie." No response, just the buzzing of the lock; she assumed he'd seen through the windows that she was alone. James opened the door of the apartment as she reached the top of the stairs, gesturing for her to enter.

He had placed a kitchen chair across from the couch. She was surprised he hadn't positioned a light to shine in her eyes. She sat, and waited for the questions to begin, responding as truthfully as she was able. "The woman in question has gone by many names, most recently Natasha Romanov. Her code name is Black Widow. She was trained by the Russians to be a spy and assassin. She ... parted ways ... with the Russians some time ago, and was brought into SHIELD. She has been working with Captain America, as well as the other Avengers."

When he questioned her about recent events, she filled in what details she dared: "Romanov was unaware of the Winter Soldier's mission. She fought to defend her friends Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson, as well as herself. She was injured, but is recovering. She was not on the helicarriers, as she had another vital mission to complete at that time. She has provided intelligence for Steve Rogers' search for his friend. She is currently on a covert mission."

There was a moment of silence, and then a final question, this one spoken tersely in Russian. "Why do you say 'she', when you mean 'I' ?" He snatched the glasses from her face and crushed them with his left hand, the other grasping her left shoulder, where the bandages still covering her gunshot wound provided little protection against his tightening grip. She gasped in pain as he forced her down to her knees. He then stepped behind her, switching the hand that held her shoulder as he pushed her head forward to pull her hair free from the elastic band. She felt his breath on her neck as he looked for telltale red roots among the brown. She slowly moved one hand toward her collar, ready to press the Panic Button, while the other reached for her ankle knife. She really, really didn't want this situation to end this way.

James suddenly released her shoulder, then dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms about her in a tight embrace, as if to keep her safe. The sudden shift in his demeanor took her breath away. She felt him shudder slightly, speaking huskily into her ear. "Why were you hiding from me, Little Flame? Why did you not burn brightly, to lead me out of darkness?"

He remembered her, and her deceit was forgiven. No time to explore the pang of joy she felt; she had to explain, somehow. "I was afraid. Afraid my fire would consume your memories, burn away the man you were before we met. The man Steve Rogers calls his best friend. I would not turn you from that path of redemption."

Her panic button buzzed, as all the lights in the apartment went out. They both sprang to their feet. Before he could say a word, she cried, "This isn't my fault, James - I swear. Barton is outside, but he signaled me." He nodded... and then the front door was kicked in and the windows shattered as black-clad figures poured into the room. Armed not with guns, but with batons, tasers and cattle prods. They meant to take their target alive.

She had no idea if this was a SHIELD or HYDRA operation; frankly, it didn't matter to her, she would fight, regardless. With their backs to the kitchen nook, she slid the knife block over to James after picking out the two largest blades - they would be all she needed. An arrow blossomed from the shoulder of one of the figures who had stood still for too long in front of a window. Clint had joined the fun, so it was probably HYDRA they faced. Moonlight shone into the room through the torn curtains and she saw a ferocious smile spread across James' face. She felt the same feral grin on hers. And so they began.

His training had served her well; the Black Widow and Winter Soldier moved in a deadly pas de deux, leaving destruction in their wake. As always, she lost track of time in the battle. It seemed but the work of a moment, and it was over. They were not unmarked; but most of the blood was not their own.

She heard Clint's voice from somewhere outside - probably the roof of a neighboring building, saying "Hey Nat... I called for backup..." She heard the whine of servos, saw a glint of moonlight reflecting from a shield.

Captain Steven Grant Rogers stepped into the room, followed by Stark in full armor. She heard the repulsors power up as James and Steve stared across the room at each other. She had no idea what Clint had said to them about James' current state of mind, and prepared to place herself inbetween the men if necessary.

"Bucky."

"Steve."

And even someone as emotionally tone-deaf as Stark could tell that there was no need to worry, as the two brothers in arms strode towards each other for a reunion long overdue. She glanced across the room at her fellow Avenger, who somehow looked mildly embarrassed behind the mask as he backed out into the hall.

She also retreated, fading into the darkness of the bedroom to take advantage of the fire escape outside the window. She recalled telling Loki that love was for children. And yes, she had been a child once; but that was long ago. She was no longer needed here. It was time to walk away. She excelled at walking away.


End file.
